Hermione the Houseelf
by purple pussy cat
Summary: Dark wins. Hermione is the house elf.


Chapter One: Reminiscences

I felt the tears trickling down my cheeks, soaking into my hair and pillow and turning them repulsively clammy. The past was here once more, spreading its exquisite agony to encompass me as I muffled the fitful sobs in my throat, striving to hold the fragile silence of the room one moment more. The dream had been so beautiful. Me, Ron and Harry celebrating our seventh Halloween together; Ron giving me a ring and promising to make me the happiest witch in the world; Ron telling Harry we were planning to get married after graduation and the war, asking him to be his best man. He was so beautiful, bending on his knees, saying: "I love you, Hermione," that very first time. Those mesmerizing dreams, filled with memories of former days forever dead and gone, were all I had left of them now.

The dreams came almost every night to mock me with my losses. I tried to tell myself that I was better off the way I am, alive and breathing instead of dying meaninglessly like the rest. 'What good would it have done,' I railed at myself again and again, 'to give it all up and never be able to make a difference?' But it was harder to believe it in the mornings after those damned beautiful dreams haunted me through the night.

There was a derisive little voice coming from some dark corner to answer me in a sweet, sneering tone, as was its wont. 'What difference did you make with your pitiful, cowardly life? You will never make a difference, you little wretch. If you hadn't been so weak and spineless, you would at least have retained your pride and honor and been loyal to Ron and Harry's memory. You spat on their love and friendship that night, not even waiting for their bodies to grow cold before betraying them. You were always so full of yourself, complaining that they didn't care or respect you enough, but when the moment of truth came, it was you who thought only of yourself and your measly life. You're nothing now, you filthy traitor, and that is all you'll ever be for the rest of your life.' I clamped my hands to my ears, trying to shut out the hateful voice shouting: "Liar, liar, liar!" But it was gone already into the shadows, waiting for the next chance to strike at me unprepared.

I didn't deserve to sit here alive and breathing, whiling away my time in pointless ruminations while Ron and Harry lay abandoned in their cold, shallow graves. Oh god, Ron, why couldn't he leave me alone in peace? He was dead and gone before we really had a chance to know what life we could have built together. I couldn't stop myself from going over all those 'what-ifs' in my mind. What would it have been like to live, just the two of us together? Would he have remembered our first anniversary? Where would we have lived, in some picturesque little cottage at the country like his parents or maybe at the London suburbs in which I grew? The answer to these dreams would forever elude me now.

I wished for a respite from this, to forget for just a little while my guilt and longing and live only in the moment but was too terrified of the prospect of having my wish fulfilled. Already the pieces were slipping away, one by one from my clutching fingers, like those greasy Chocolate Frogs he had liked so much, hopping their merry way off into the far-off sunset. Did he really have those torn trousers at the end of our first-year or was it our third? Did he have that cute, adorable mole on the right side of his mouth or was it his left? It must be his right; Mnemosyne would surely not betray me now! Its image was there in front of me as I shut my eyes and tried to recapture his special smile, that special, hopeful Ron-ish smile, but it was wavering a bit, growing hazier at the edges, and there was no mole. Gods, what if I was wrong? Was that his smile at all? It would be the ultimate betrayal to forget them, my love and my loyal friend, who'd risked their lives for me without a thought to their own, time and again. Who would remember them if I couldn't be bothered with it? There was no one. I would not forsake them, not them; at least in this I would be true to them.

Getting up, I dressed in my black slave dress – the transfigured silken handkerchief of my master, Severus Snape – and washed my face clean of tears. Looking at the shards of glass left from the broken mirror, I thought again of what a coward I truly was. Ron and Harry had been brave enough to face death unflinchingly, Harry managing to spit in Lord Voldemort's face before the end. Even silly, clumsy Tonks had changed herself into a hag and shouted that without Remus she would rather die than go on living. It was too much. Clenching my eyes closed, I tried to forget that moment. Those glass shards were useless, anyway. It was too late to use them, even if I wanted to now.

Finishing up, my hands crept once again, as if of their own volition, up the chest and across that face to the ears - those pointy bunny ears. 'Such a cruel joke,' I mused mirthlessly, 'to be marked like this for the whole world to see.' But then again, I deserved no better.

Silently, I let my legs lead me down to the kitchens to get his breakfast for him. All the other elves were busily preparing for the arrival of the students on the train that evening, chatting enthusiastically about what would be the best courses to serve for the Welcoming Feast.

Thinking of the students, I tried to plaster a smile to my face while ignoring the simpering elves. If I could make the students see hope in my eyes, maybe, just maybe, they would find it in themselves to make a difference in their world. It was already too late for some.

Going through the familiar corridors of my lost childhood days, I wondered how I would manage to hold the shreds of my pride together in front of the whole school, most of them people who knew me as that irritating, show-offish know-it-all. I had no wish to see the smirks or pitying looks that they'd doubtlessly throw at me, or worse the looks of bored disinterest. It was impossible. I would just have to try and become invisible.

Snape didn't like his food tampered with and so I couldn't go to him by sooty Floo, and as for elvish Apparation, I didn't know yet how to perform it, but at least I'd managed to learn enough of these new magics to make myself invisible to human eyes - when I could bring myself to concentrate on it, that is. It needed a constant focus of thought or I would appear, once more, in the middle of the corridor. Those blasted elves. Couldn't they just write a manual on their elvish magic? No, the pesky things had to do it all by word of mouth, using nauseatingly subservient, syrupy fairy tales.

Entering the Headmaster's office silently, I placed the tray on the table and went to stand in the corner until he wanted anything from me. He rarely acknowledged my presence at his side, unless it was to mutter some disparaging instructions, and didn't want me to remind him of my presence. He liked his silence and solitude so much I wondered sometimes how he could have forborne to become a teacher of a class full of noisy, ham-fisted children all those years ago. Looking at him once again from beneath my lowered eyelashes, I wondered what I should feel towards him. I couldn't let the creeping feelings the chance to serve my master always induced in me, that growing euphoria mixed with the bitter shame at my inactivity, control me. He was Professor Snape, Headmaster Snape, Severus Snape, Mas… no, just Severus Snape, no less, no more. In any case, he was one of them, the oppressors who made me what I was now, and deserved nothing from me. Still, he was also the last link to my former life, the only member of the Order of the Phoenix left alive and free on British soil, and also the man who'd spared my life - what little there was of it left to spare. He was all I had left from that life now but for those bittersweet memories. 

I was there once more at the Grimmauld Place dining hall that fateful Christmas day. Huddled on the cold stone floor amidst the sullied Christmas decorations, I held Ron's arm with all my might, fearing he would stand up from the crowd at any moment to confront our hateful enemies. The Death Eaters around us weren't paying too close of attention to their wandless prisoners at the moment, just lifting their wands threateningly at us from time to time, making small talk in hushed but merry tones during the rest. I could see from the corner of my eye Professor Lupin holding Tonks' hand beneath the shady fir tree, whispering soothing words into her hair, making her smile tremulously through her tears. Could there be any hope for us against these odds? We were still here, relatively unharmed, and if we could only hold calm long enough, rescue would surely come. Surely, Ron saw that too?

Harry wasn't here, and I hoped he might have escaped to bring us help. Could he find Professor Dumbledore in time to make it count? He was supposed to meet us here last night, but now I was glad he had been detained. He would come to our rescue, just like he always did throughout our years at Hogwarts. Besides, Harry always knew what to do in situations like this, and Professor Dumbledore was truly 'the magician', as I liked to call him in my heart, always with a handful of shiny tricks up his sleeve. I could already imagine him standing in the door with a twinkle in his eyes like the merry Santa he always pretended to be, felling all the Death Eaters in the room with a single wave of his wand. If Ron could only stop and think with his head for a moment, he would see that too. I tried to give him the message, digging my nails into his arm and trying to catch his eyes, but he only grunted quietly, trying to shake me off him. I could feel how taut he was, burdened with the unspoken tension and worry for our friend and for our safety, his face glistening with cold sweat in the chilled room. If only I was a Legilimens like Professor Snape or Professor Dumbledore, I would have shown him there was nothing to worry about, that help was surely on its way and he should trust Professor Dumbledore and Harry to come through for us like they always did. Why couldn't he understand me? He hadn't even looked at me for the past half hour, just staring fixedly at the door with a determined look.

Suddenly, the door opened in measured silence to reveal a tall hooded figure. He stood there for a moment before he strode majestically forward to the middle of the room, drawing an eerily silent entourage in his wake. They floated after him, tall and hooded like him yet subservient, all the same, with hardly a rustle to disturb the choking silence that spread out to the room like stifling waves of transparent glue. I knew at once what they were: Dementors. Cold and heartless, they stole all the hopes and dreams around them to feed their filthy spirits. They weren't looking at us, at least, gazing one and all at their lord in irresistible fascination: like files drawn to a magnet, or dark black moths lured into a darker flame.

Taking his hood off to reveal his cold, cruel face with those luminescent pitiless red eyes, he smiled at the room at large, stopping for moments on this face or that to cherish their despair and agony. "You believed you could defeat Us with your puny army, foolish as that was. You believed that with Albus Dumbledore at your head and Harry Potter as your lucky talisman you could not be beaten. You were foolish, but no matter. We will show you the truth. Yes, We will show you the true meaning of Our power. Already We have annihilated that lofty fool Headmaster of yours beyond all chance of rekindling," here he smiled triumphantly, "and now We will show you how little your precious Harry Potter really means compared to Us. Bring him, my children," he called softly, and immediately a pair of Dementors stepped out momentarily to bring forth Harry, our dear, loyal friend.

His face was smeared with caked and oozing blood and his eyes were haunted with guilt and anguish as he saw us huddled on the floor like sheep waiting for the slaughter. He opened his mouth twice, looking imploringly at us from tear-stained eyes, but before he could say anything, Voldemort put his hand into his pocket and drew a familiar-looking wand. It was Harry's. "Missing something, boy?" He laughed silently as Harry's face went pasty white, before snapping the wand in two and throwing it into the flames.

Harry tried to break free of the Dementors' grasp, shouting: "I'll show you, you bastard. You let them go and fight me like a man." He was berserk with hatred and despair.

"I don't think so. He is yours," he whispered to the gathered Dementors, taking a few steps back. "He isn't worthy of a curse from my wand."

Harry tugged with all his might, trying to free his arms and escape the swarming Dementors gathering around him. "You can't beat me on your own, can you? You're just a slimy, lifeless coward and that's all you'll ever be. I'll kill you!" Spit flew as he tried to beat one final strike against his lifelong enemy, but the Dementors were too powerful and numerous for him and hid him in their midst, drowning out his voice and presence.

I stared nervelessly at the scene, not believing my own eyes. How could this be happening? Surely, Harry would escape in a moment, smiting all the Dementors to the ground to confront, and confound Voldemort like he always did? It was all just a bad dream, and at any moment I would wake up to discover everyone still in their beds, laughing at my fanciful imaginings.

Suddenly, there was a roar from my right and I was knocked on my side, falling slowly, oh so slowly to the floor, trying desperately to understand what was happening. Where was Ron? My hand darted desperately sideways, seeking him where a moment before I'd held him in my grasp. The shout was still reverberating in my ears as my eyes flew to the front to see Ron leaping at Voldemort, shouting: "Harry!" I tried to get up, to tell Ron not to do it, to hide his face in my lap from his friend's terrible fate, but I couldn't manage to move. Why couldn't I move? I was still on the floor, my head just starting to lift off the ground. My mouth opened to say I knew not what as Voldemort lifted his hand, hissing a negligent _"Avada Kedavra"_ at him. I was shouting, crying against the searing, lightning-bright green light that coruscated around Ron's shadowy form, obliterating his image from my eyes in its overwhelming intensity.

I was shouting wordlessly, but no one heard me as the room exploded to deafening chaos. The Order's members tried to rush their foes in Ron's footsteps while the surrounding Death Eaters threw various curses in their way. I could hear a mixture of Impediment Jinxes, full Body-Binds, some Jelly-Legs Jinxes and even a few Silencing Charms as if from a great distance. I heard a muffled thump from beyond the crowd. It sounded so small and insignificant, dwarfed as it was in the mind-boggling noisy fire-show around me, but I knew what it meant. I didn't join the rest of them in their futile, useless melee but wept out my grief and pain, instead, as I crawled on the crowded floor toward the spot where I saw him last, not letting anything distract me.

Where was he? I had to help him! I couldn't keep my bearings in all the confusion. My head was smarting, my hands were throbbing and I had trouble breathing from all the stomps and kicks I got along the way. It was no matter. Ron needed me and I was going to help him. Was that him, lying on the floor ahead?

Someone stumbled over me, sending us both sprawling on the floor. It was Tonks, her hair streaked red and sooty black and her eyes a fearful shade of yellow, eyes that seemed to search my features for some sign of reassurance. "He's dead," she articulated in a soft and toneless voice, barely heard above the surrounding mayhem. "I saw him, falling, falling in the light. How could he fall, like a doll, just like that? Tell me, Hermione. He couldn't just fall. I know he couldn't." She was shaking me now, her arms fisted in my shirt and her eyes blazing madly. "Tell me, Hermione, tell me it isn't true."

I tried to shake her off, shouting: "Ron's fine! Let go of me. I have to help him." Why wasn't Tonks with the rest? I had to get away; I had to be rid of her.

Tonks didn't seem to hear, and instead kept saying over and over again, "He was so strong inside. You didn't see it; he was always so gentle with you lot. He never raised his voice at me, even at my clumsiest." Her mouth twisted in a half grimace, half smile. "What will I do without him? I'm just a joke without him, just a bad flashy joke. Please, Hermione. Tell me he isn't dead. Tell me you'll set him right. Have you seen him? Have you seen Remus?" Her eyes pled with me.

The chaos around us was lessening as futile bravery gave way to sleek, irresistible cruel wands. I could glimpse between the milling legs, and beyond the shaking shoulder in front of me, those staring, lifeless blue eyes I knew so well, and whispered, "Dead, dead and nevermore." Was that sobbing I heard in reply? I didn't care anymore. He was gone, leaving only that empty husk behind because I couldn't hold on to him. Why did I let him go? I knew he would do something foolish and now it was too late, far too late for anything. "Nevermore."

Looking from the gift-strewn fallen tree in the corner to the leering Death Eaters standing over the lot of us, I wished for just one gift in place of all those meaningless trinkets: just to be able to turn back the clock a few hours and erase this terrible day from existence, make it never happen. Was that too much to ask? It wasn't! And if not that, could I not at least get just a few craved-for minutes, a few meager, measly minutes to get Ron back, just hold him to my breast and show him he was not alone.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise as someone stumbled in front of me over Ron's body and started cursing to himself. Turning his back on me, he muttered a disgusted, "Mangy cur," before he kicked him in the nose, producing a distinctive crunching sound in the quieting room, coloring the heavy boot with spattered red. Oh, how I wanted to scream my rage at that 'mangy' boot, to rend it with my teeth, even, but I was all spent out from all the despair and shock and horror I had gone through already. Was this the end? I felt as if it was my body and not poor Ron's that had just been kicked, and I curled into a tight little ball to hold out the pain.

Voldemort was looking annoyed and hissed, "Enough with these stupid interruptions, Crabbe. Control him, Malfoy. Don't think We didn't see you casting that Killing Curse without permission. Are you questioning Our authority now?" he finished in a contemptuous tone. Crabbe. I knew that name from somewhere but couldn't bring my mind to concentrate on it, and instead reflected disconnectedly on the question of why he was referring to himself in the plural. He should be told his mistakes or how else would he learn to correct them? He would probably kill anyone impertinent enough to say it, but I had to take a stand somewhere, didn't I? The notion of being killed for unswervingly correct grammar was oddly appealing.

"No, my Lord," Malfoy was meanwhile hurrying to reply, "he was not worthy of your attentions, my Lord. He was just another one of Dumbledore's useless half-monster pets. The thing was a werewolf, and a useless one at that. My Lord, would you believe my words if I told you that in over thirty years with that affliction, he had never once killed or even bitten a single witch or wizard or even a worthless Muggle? It's true. I apologize most deeply for my disrespect, but I didn't think you would mind if I removed that riff-raff out of your path." Malfoy finished up dramatically, looking hopefully at his master's visage to see if he accepted his excuses.

As those pompous words were uttered, my attention was gradually drawn to the shapeless heap of cloth laying beside the gathered group of Dementors. 'Poor Harry,' the thought came to me slowly, 'to lose the last connection in this world to his father and family, except of course for those prudish Dursleys.' No, that wasn't right. Harry wouldn't miss any of them. He could join them now wherever it was you went after… after... I couldn't think about it. At least they were all together now, having a grand time of it at last: Harry, his parents, Sirius, Remus, Ron… How could Harry be happy without his best friend Ron at his side?

But Voldemort smiled leniently at his nervous servant before replying. "A tame werewolf, you say? That is indeed the most useless combination We've ever heard about, and no great loss. However, _Crucio!_ I will not have any more impertinence out of you or next time your punishment will be more than just simple pain."

The writhing figure of Malfoy rose from the floor, mumbling, "Thank you, my Lord, I will be most humble and faithful, my Lord." He got stiffly back to his place, shivering slightly from time to time.

Looking down again, I noticed that Tonks was still crouching at my side, her face flickering with an odd expression as her reddish-yellow eyes flashed from Malfoy's shivering form to Lupin's supine one. Her mouth opened widely in a toothy grin, her eyes glittering behind her shaking hands one moment, and the next her eyes were growing dim and dull and her mouth set itself in a trembling, hard line. Had she said something to me before? It was probably not important.

Ron's bloody carcass was just an arm's length away, but my terror was too great for me to move, even to close his haunted, empty, sky-blue eyes. What would they do to them if I tried?

Voldemort smiled to his gathered followers. "Today we have won a great victory. Your valor and loyalty have assisted Us in defeating Our enemies in their own den, and We wish to repay each and every one of you for your valor and loyalty towards Us."

Apparently, Voldemort had decided he should be treated like royalty or a deity I decided, as I listened to his speech, despising myself all the while for staring at his authoritarian, irresistible face instead of at my love or friends. But I couldn't tear my eyes from him as I knew that Fate spoke through those thin, reddish lips, imparting my and everyone else's end, like Atrophos at her bench toiling with her shiny scissors.

Sweeping his gaze over the huddled prisoners surrounding me, he purred, "We are feeling generous tonight. You do not all have to die for your past grievances against Us. Step forth and proclaim your fealty toward Us, and if we find you worthy enough for our troubles, your lives will be spared to serve Our loyal Death Eaters.

"We cannot trust a mere empty promise from your deceitful lips, of course, after your sordid past allegiances, but with the appropriate charm, We will transform you into the proper subservient form. Which of you wishes to live to see another day?"

I can still feel the silent daggers stabbing at my back after all this time; the utter silence, broken only by the occasional gasp, as I tremblingly stepped forward to kiss the hem of his silken robes, feeling oddly disconnected from my craven body as I whispered, "I will serve you, my Lord."

I couldn't bear to suffer Ron and Harry's fate and leave my parents, my dear beloved and loving parents, alone, never to know what grim fate has taken me from them. I had to grasp this gift, no matter what repulsive wrapping held it in its clutches. It was not Atrophos peeking through those pitiless red eyes after all, but Clotho, offering us a chance at rebirth. I had to snatch this chance at life no matter what the cost, was that so wrong? I had obligations to fulfill, duties I had committed myself to. I didn't look up to see who would follow me. It was hard enough to abide by my choice; I couldn't tolerate the thought of people following in my footsteps to whatever fortune I chose for them by my example. I tried to shut out the sound of their groveling at that demon's feet while the gathered Death Eaters silenced any jeers or protests from the crowd with casually thrown Silencing Charms and Cruciatus Curses. The moment the Dark Lord rejected Zacharias Smith, after Zacharias had prostrated and groveled before him, was particularly hard to bear. After that, the offers became scarcer and the mood more tense. Did I want them to follow my example? Surely, those girls from school, those former DA members, some of them younger than me, should step forth. They had their whole lives ahead of them. Still, every call had the bitter taste of surrender.

I stared blankly at the wall as those who remained behind, or worse, thrown contemptuously back, were tortured and killed in a depraved orgy of lust and blood, not wanting to meet their hateful, accusing or imploring eyes before they met their gruesome ends. I stared at the floor in shame as Voldemort asked if anyone wanted me for himself. There was a long, unendurable silence before the door suddenly opened to reveal the dripping figure of a surprised-looking, momentarily wide-eyed Professor Snape.

Voldemort looked up in delight. "My dear boy, however did you hear about this raid? You will be happy to hear that our world is at last free of such pesky irritants as Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter and is ready, like a ripened fruit, for us to pluck and rule. We were just about to give this Mudblood to whoever wanted her to serve him ad infinitum. Or, We can just get rid of her if no one wants her?" He surveyed the silent crowd.

Professor Snape stood there for a long moment with his fists clenched at his sides, his face a taut, harsh mask that revealed nothing of what was going on behind it after that first unguarded moment. Sweeping his eyes across the clammy room, taking in the bodies all around him, his gaze stopped briefly on the stricken form of Remus, fallen beside Harry's inert feet. Raising his eyes to survey the few remaining fearful captives contemplatively, his orbs finally set upon me for a long moment before he opened his mouth slowly and replied in a carefully blank and emotionless tone, "I will take her."

I've often wondered why he really came to the headquarters that night and what made him speak up for me. Did he take pity on me, or was it cruelty towards one of his annoying Gryffindor students? I just can't make up my mind.

After that statement, Voldemort summoned a cauldron filled with some murky green, syrupy-smelling potion I was sure I had never read about and Professor Snape sidled close to inspect it, rubbing his hands as he complimented Voldemort on his knowledge and expertise. Taking up an old leaden goblet from the table, Voldemort filled it with his potion and picked up my stolen wand from the nearby pile, dropping it into the steaming cup. There was a terrible hissing sound for a moment before my wand disappeared, melted into the potion, leaving nothing more than a momentary cloud of vapor and a profusion of angry bubbles. Pricking the Professor's fingertip with a silver pin, he added a drop of his blood to the cup, quieting down the concoction and giving it an iridescent green tint and a piney tang that reminded me oddly of my parents' bathroom. Presenting the cup to me, his eyes settled hungrily on my lips in eager anticipation.

I had to go on no matter what this horrible potion did to me. He had taken my wand from me, and if I didn't drink this concoction, I was almost certain I would lose my magic forever. Closing my eyes and praying for luck, I gulped it all down in one swift swallow. I could feel myself changing, losing something that made me Hermione Granger and getting something strange and foreign in return. I could hear the gasps of awe and amazement from the gathered Death Eaters and horror and revulsion from my fellow prisoners. What had he done to me? I looked at the murky mirror on the wall, trying to see what was changed. I couldn't see any difference at first and wandered closer and closer to the large mirror. Those ears! I took a step back, unwilling to take in what I saw. My eyes widened until they were twice their normal size, glued to those big, pointy ears in the mirror, those bunny-like, house-elf ears that shouted at me what my mind couldn't take in.

My eyes darted around in the mirror to the crowd behind me, seeking some kindly gaze that would tell me it was all a dream, a lie, a crooked mirror. My eyes settled suddenly on the dark, greasy figure standing beside Voldemort and eyeing me contemplatively. I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was different somehow, though I couldn't place my finger on what it was. I tried to look away, but my eyes kept returning to his bottomless gaze. I felt like some piece of iron pulled by an irresistible magnet. What was happening to me?

Professor Snape looked irritated, all of a sudden, behind his impenetrable mask and declared that he should return to Hogwarts to assure its compliance, begging Voldemort to let him serve him thus. Waving at me to follow him, he made his way to the door, giving small nods of acknowledgment to the congratulations thrown after him for his new position as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I tried to stop my legs from moving but they kept walking, following Professor Snape's footsteps no matter how hard I tried to prevent them. They were at the doorstep already, and I knew my body was not my own any more. Lachesis had just betrayed me once more. 

Author's Note: Clotho, Lachesis and Atrophos are the three aspects of Fate. Clotho spins the Thread of Life, Lachesis allots the length of the yarn, and Atrophos does the snip (the final one). Mnemosyne was the Titaness earth-goddess of memory and the inventress of words and language. As a Titan daughter of Ouranos (Heaven), she was a goddess of time who represented the oral preservation of the stories of history before the introduction of writing. She is also the mother of the Muses.


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